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THE   LIGHTHOUSE

desolate  stump.     She  gazed  at  the  immense

expanse of the sea.    The island had grown so

small that it scarcely looked like a leaf any longer,

It looked like the top of a rock which some big

wave would cover.   Yet in its frailty were all those

paths, those terraces, those bedrooms—all those

innumerable things.    But as, just before sleep,

things simplify themselves so that only one of all

the myriad details has power to assert itself, so,

she felt, looking drowsily at the island, all those

paths  and  terraces and  bedrooms were fading

and disappearing, and  nothing was left but a

pale blue censer swinging rhythmically this way

and that across her mind.    It was a  hanging

garden; it was a valley, full of birds, and flowers,

and antelopes. . . . She was falling asleep.

" Come now," said Mr. Ramsay, suddenly
shutting his book.

Come where? To what extraordinary adven-
ture? She woke with a start. To land somewhere,
to climb somewhere? Where was he leading
them? For after his immense silence the words
startled them. But it was absurd. He was
hungry, he said. It was time for lunch. Besides,
look, he said. There's the Lighthouse. " We're
almost there."

" He's doing very well," said MacaKster,
praising James. " He's keeping her very steady."